


Mathom

by Rakshi



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:11:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshi/pseuds/Rakshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks of an old friend on his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mathom

Sam knocked gently on the door to Bag End. He shuffled his feet a bit as he waited, feeling terribly self-conscious. He wasn't accustomed to coming to this door without invitation, or having specific tasks to perform. But today was different. Sam knew he had to do what he’d set out to do when he’d left the Gaffer this morning, mumbling over his porridge. Sam squared his shoulders and knocked again.. louder.

The door opened slowly to reveal Frodo’s sleepy face, peeping around the door. He was dressed in a nightshirt, his dark hair tousled. “Sam? What is it, Sam? Is something wrong? Do come in.” He stepped aside to give Sam room to enter, and then hurriedly shut the door again. “My goodness, Autumn is upon us isn’t it?” He shivered as he turned to Sam, who was blushing furiously. “Come into the drawing room.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Sam said haltingly. “I’ve gone and woken you.” He hesitated, feeling awkward and embarrassed. The sight of Frodo in his thin nightshirt all but took his breath. “I could come back another time, sir.” He turned toward the door, but Frodo caught his arm.

“No matter, Sam. I’m a slug-a-bed this morning. Come in. Is something wrong?” He gently led Sam into the drawing room, and motioned him to a chair. “Sit. It seems something’s on your mind. Sit and tell me about it.”

Sam glanced toward the chair, and hesitated again. “I’ll stand, sir, if it’s all the same to you. Or I could boil water for some tea, if you’ve a mind to have some.”

“Tea would be lovely, Sam. But let me boil the water. It’s rare that you come for a visit, and I shall wait on you for a change,” This last was said with determination, and Frodo took Sam’s arm as he spoke. “Come now, dear Sam. We’ll sit in the kitchen. I’ve slept so late it’s time for elevenses. Let’s enjoy it together like two sociable Hobbits.”

Sam followed him to the kitchen, and allowed himself to be pressed into a chair as Frodo bustled around the kitchen, starting the fire, getting water for the pot and setting out a few scones to go with their tea. “Now what else do we need?” Frodo asked, looking about.

“Nothing, sir,” Sam said quietly. “It’s right proper and I thank you. I’ve not had an elevenses this fine in many a day.”

Frodo sat down next to him. “And now, Sam. The reason for your visit?”

For a long moment they stared into each other’s eyes, then Sam lowered his head, feeling himself blush again. “I’ve come to wish you a most Happy Birthday, Mr. Frodo, sir,” he said in a velvet soft voice. “I brought a gift to give you, if you’d be allowin’ it.”

“Why, Sam!” Frodo exclaimed.

“I know ‘tis not the custom. But, beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo, this is a special day for more reason than your birthday.” Frodo smiled and Sam hastened to add, “… not that your birthday isn’t reason ‘a plenty, sir.” He glanced up shyly. “What I meant, sir, was that I think of someone else too on this day. Someone I know you think of too.”

For a moment his hand covered Sam’s patting it softly. “How kind of you. And of course I’ll allow it! I love presents!”

Sam reached into his jacket pocket, fumbling a bit. The touch of Frodo’s hand had sent a warm shockwave through him and he struggled to compose himself. “It’s right here, sir.” From his pocket he drew a small, rectangular object. “I was thinkin’ of Mr. Bilbo today.” He lifted his eyes and gazed at Frodo thoughtfully. “I was missin’ him, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo looked away quickly, but not before Sam saw a shadow of sadness in his eyes. “When I was a lad,” Sam continued. “Mr. Bilbo was kind to me. He’d tell me stories and teach me my letters. He treated me like quality though I was naught but the gardener’s son and too young to be of much use. It meant the world to me, sir. I sometimes didn’t feel I was worth much as a lad. I felt lost at times with all us little ones underfoot ‘round home. But, Mr. Bilbo made me feel I was special. Like I was worth somethin’. Like - like I could learn and be better than I was.”

“Sam,” Frodo said softly. The thought of Sam questioning his worth nearly broke Frodo’s heart. ‘ _If only you knew how much you’re worth to me_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _Someday, Sam, I shall show you.’_

Sam held the object out to Frodo. “I’d like to give this to you, sir. Mr. Bilbo gave it to me, and I thought, mayhap, it would be a thing you’d treasure, bein’ from him and all.”

Frodo turned the object over. It was a bookmark, made by Bilbo’s own hand. There were pictures of Dwarves and Dragons drawn upon it, and two letters, S.G., were carefully intertwined at the bottom. “But, Sam,” Frodo protested. “It’s got your initials on it! Surely you don’t want to part with it!”

“I want you to have it, Mr. Frodo,” Sam told him quietly. “That way, should I ever go off down the lane for a spell, you’ll remember me when you see my initials there on the bookmark.”

“Sam,” Frodo said, brushing away a tear. “…as though I could ever forget you.”

Sam nodded toward the fire. “Your pot’s boilin’, Mr. Frodo. Would you like me to pour for you?” He half rose from his chair. “Please, sir. I’d like to.”

Frodo smiled at him. “If you wish, Sam.” He turned and looked, once again, at the bookmark. “It’s a lovely gift, Sam. It brings to mind many things that I love. My Uncle, and books, and learning, and…,” he hesitated, glancing up at Sam who was pouring hot water into Frodo’s teapot. “… and other things I love. Other things I deeply love, and could never, ever forget.”

Sam’s hand was shaking as he hung the pot back over the fire. “I’m glad it pleases you, Mr. Frodo.”

“I love it, my dear Sam. And I thank you. Now sit and have elevenses with me. Let this time together be a gift we give each other.”

Sam sat again, reaching for his teacup. The bookmark lay on the table between them, and Sam glanced down at it, picturing it pressed between the pages of Frodo’s book, touched by his hands as he turned the pages. He lifted his eyes and stared boldly into Frodo’s. “That would make me ever so happy, sir.” He smiled and saw Frodo smile in return. Then he whispered: “Happy Birthday, Mr. Frodo.”


End file.
